


Until Then

by Val_Creative



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aang (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Action/Adventure, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Blue Spirit Zuko (Avatar), Canon Rewrite, Episode Related, Episode: s01e13 The Blue Spirit, M/M, Romantic Friendship, Season/Series 01, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26429296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Instead of the Blue Spirit getting knocked out, Aang saves him from the arrow and they make off into the woods.
Relationships: Aang/Zuko (Avatar), The Blue Spirit/Aang (Avatar)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 310





	Until Then

**Author's Note:**

> I just really wanted to write Aang and The Blue Spirit. 💙 When I was a kid, I was fascinated by this episode and their dynamic so I rolled with whatever my brain had in it. I hope you like this. Any thoughts/comments are deeply welcomed!

*

Even with distance, Aang knows the menacing eyes of the Fire Nation soldiers on him. Zhao and his men, included.

He backs up with his captor — _a nameless person in a blue spirit mask_ — further and further away from the Pohuai Stronghold. Creeping along in long strides. Aang swallows hard, groaning through his clenched jaws when the dual broadswords hold tight to his neck. He's _careful_ about breathing. Exhale too deep, inhale too soon, and the sharpened steel might cut him bleeding.

They worked together. Fought together. Aang doesn't know what could be gained in turning against each other now.

"Do you think they'll try and follow us?" he whispers, listening for any response.

_Nothing._

It's been nothing since Aang met him.

(Aang wonders if the Blue Spirit can speak at all… did the Fire Nation punish him? Disfigure him? Remove his tongue?)

He can feel the Blue Spirit's large, heaving chest pressed up to his own back. His elbows tucked against up to Aang's rib-cage. The dizzying thud of his heart. Aang understands being on edge. He does. A glisten of sweat dribbles on Aang's cheek.

Everything feels heightened. Slowed down.

The half-moon darkness surrounds them in a faint and colorless mist. Aang hears the low pitch of spider crickets from the nearby woods. Then suddenly, he tenses in place. An invisible and quick-rippling sensation draws closer.

"Look out!" Aang hollers.

He knocks himself with his bald head and shoulders into the Blue Spirit's front, forcing them backwards, using airbending to strengthen the impact.

Something long and fluttering red grazes the tip of Aang's nose.

With a confused grunt, the Blue Spirit lands flat on the road, narrowly missing the arrow centered for his forehead.

He's spreadeagled. His broadswords still in hand.

Aang rotates himself mid-fall. The bright Air Nomad clothing flutters as his wind dies, and his eyes round. He discovers himself crouching over the Blue Spirit, Aang's knees in the dirt. One of Aang's hands gently rests to the Blue Spirit's stomach.

There's something so deeply enigmatic about him. Especially when they're face-to-face.

(Well… face-to- _mask_ , Aang supposes.)

He's all warmth and muscles beneath the fabric. Aang's mouth goes dry.

It's a split second until the Blue Spirit grips his fingers into Aang's collar-shawl. Pigmented orange against dark, tough leather. Aang feels himself yanked in, impossibly close to the mask, and then dumped aside onto the ground with his legs wobbling in the air.

Aang grimaces, sitting up. His face flushed.

_"Monkey feathers—"_

Within the Fire Nation fortress, there's noises of shouts and heavy layers of armor clinking.

Aang springs onto his feet, concentrating and leaping in front of the Blue Spirit. His airbending creates a protective wind-whipped barrier. More of the Yuyan Archers' arrows whiz towards them and Aang erupts his Air Wall to blast them away.

It's not long before the entirety of the Fire Army troop approaches. They hoist their spears, yelling and stampeding onward.

He inhales, thrusting out his hands sharply sideways and materializing a dust cover. "Run! This way!" Aang yells over the war-cries of soldiers. He snatches onto the Blue Spirit's wrist and drags him into the nearest patch of woods, leading. "Come on!"

They zigzag into a cluster of redwood trees. From behind, Aang can hear more of Zhao's men rustling through the greenery.

His fingers lose their clutch on the Blue Spirit.

"Hey, wait! Not that way!" Aang cries out, staring terrified in the moonlight as his companion leaps in another direction. He has no idea where that path goes. It could be a mountainous cliff's edge! Or it could plunge him right into a Fire Nation iron-trap!

Aang panics a little, and then refocuses as a Fire Nation soldiers lunges. He dodges the long, metal spear aiming to pierce Aang's side, rising to his tiptoes and lifting a leg to ram the soldier with a blow of air from Aang's kick.

Unable to tell where he is, Aang circles a second Fire Nation soldier, putting up his hands in defense and getting vaulted off his feet.

_No, no…_

A sickeningly loud whack fills Aang's ears. His head throbs.

Everything rings like an Air Master's bell.

Aang finds himself collapsed onto the wood's grass, barely holding himself up by his forearms. Dark blood cascades into Aang's left eye.

One of the Fire Army's men stretches a red-dyed, armored glove for him.

_No…_

The man is yanked, tossed aside by the Blue Spirit with fistfuls of his crimson, sleeveless tunic. He roars out in indignation. The war-spear jabs towards the Blue Spirit. With an eerie amount of patience, the Blue Spirit cracks it apart with a few, practiced arm-movements.

That soldier gasps, ripping off his helmet fearfully and sprinting for his life, tripping over an unconscious soldier.

Aang dazedly looks up to the Blue Spirit walking to him, unsheathing his twin broadswords.

_Please…_

His grey eyes roll, lids fluttering. Aang's cheek drops limply against softened, mud-dampened grass.

*

This could have gone better.

Zuko silently reprimands himself for not being vigilant enough. He could have let one of Zhao's men steal the Avatar right from under his nose.

He could have _failed_ his mission.

Presenting out his dual broadswords carefully, Zuko slices apart what's wrapped to Avatar's ankles. _Bolas_ — weighed cords of metal designed by the Fire Nation. Easiest way to trap an opponent.

He hauls the Avatar out of the mud, examining him.

What appears to be blood smears and dries on the top of Avatar's head. Must have struck the hardened, filthy bark of a tree. It's not like the Avatar to be clumsy, or seemingly defenseless, but they have been _fighting for their lives_ against the infantrymen.

Not a deep wound, Zuko concludes. But it needs to be treated.

There's no sign of regaining consciousness. Zuko claps his hands together in the Avatar's face and snap his fingers.

_Nothing._

It's troubling but not an immediate concern. After all, Zuko might find it easier to get around if the Avatar isn't resisting him.

He carries him into his arms with the Avatar's upper body and the side of his face slumping against Zuko's chest. It's like holding a warm, heavy bundle of animal bones. He can still hear the fortress-soldiers marching through the trees, calling out orders and searching.

Using the cover of half-moon darkness, Zuko sneaks out of their range, heading deeper and deeper into the woods.

No one follows.

Down in the valley, Zuko hides himself and the Avatar in the lowermost area along the shrubbery and thorn-prickling branches.

He waits for first light before leaving. They'll need boiled water and clean rags. Zuko walks them another mile or so before doing this, filling his water-skin, rinsing the lifeblood out of the Avatar's eye and scrubbing any residue from the head-wound.

Zuko unceremoniously props the Avatar up against a log. He digs his bare fingers under the Avatar's chin, letting his head loll back.

There's a strong, steady pulse.

He's breathing, yes, but no twitch of life. No responses to noises or Zuko's fingers touching him.

Might be a fever… might be something worse…

_No._

He cannot doubt himself. A level head, Zuko tells himself. A level head is what will make him a great leader.

Uncle Iroh taught him about medicinal herbs before. White willow bark, chewed or brewed into tea, for infections. Ginger root for headaches. Sweet wormwood for bleeding and fevers, as well as yarrow and elderflowers which Zuko spotted over a ridge.

Zuko wonders absentmindedly if his uncle and their crew performed Music Night on the ship. Blowing through woodwind instruments and laughing and drinking together. Lieutenant Jee often glowered at Zuko in the firelight. Zuko scorned their performances. It was a waste of time. Uncle Iroh would be only one to invite him, but Zuko refused, sulking to his chambers.

He never wanted to participate, but Zuko allowed Music Night to continue uninterrupted. It boosted their morale. Kept the peace. Allowed Zuko's crew to relax. And even if Zuko finds him to be _infuriating_ sometimes, it gives Uncle Iroh a sense of happiness.

Clear water pools out of the Avatar's mouth as Zuko wordlessly coaxes him to drink. Ignoring the tiniest moans of protest.

For being such an all-powerful being in this world, he's nothing more than a boy. His cheeks round and rosy-red with fever. Zuko hesitates, lowering the water-skin and cautiously standing. A familiar white glow slits through the Avatar's eyelids.

_"Raava…"_

Zuko narrows his eyes behind the Blue Spirit mask.

 _"Raava…"_ the Avatar mumbles, drenched in sweat over his flushed-hot skin. His brow furrows. _"Raa…va…"_

It's not an ordinary name he's calling out in his delirium. Zuko can't explain the feeling. He doesn't recognize it as one of the names of the Water Tribe peasants traveling with the Avatar. This seems… older than the Avatar himself.

The white glow fades. Zuko shudders out an exhale, witnessing as the Avatar slowly calms.

Soon enough, the infection from the Avatar's open head-wound subsides. It must be.

Zuko sweeps his fingertips against the other boy's forehead, reassured by the lack of fever, and pulls back on his dark-leather gloves.

Nothing can be simple, can it?

*

Aang hisses himself awake, groaning in pain. He curls into a tight ball.

The leaves beneath Aang wrinkle and shift noisily.

Why does it… feel like… a tigerdillo's jaws crushed his skull?… …

His vision hazes. Aang blinks rapidly, sitting up and glancing around to footsteps. He touches over his head. What appears to be a dried herb-paste flecks onto Aang's palm. When did… did the Blue Spirit help him when they left the compound?

" _Whrr_ … are we…?"

He doesn't remember these soggy, browning leaves on the gigantic mountain-trees, or the color of the moss. Or why Aang smells like a wet possum-pigeon. Aang thinks at some point he was dreaming of the herbalist riding an Appa-sized Miyuki.

The herbalist…

"I need to go," Aang says, his voice raspy. He climbs trembling onto his knees. "My friends…"

Everything whirls, causing him to moan and stagger on his feet. Aang finds his grip on the Blue Spirit's wrists reaching for him. His companion pushes Aang firmly down to sit. Aang obeys, staring up to him as if mesmerized. His lips part wide-open.

"I guess we can't leave… until I'm better? Right?"

The Blue Spirit answers in the slightest head-nod. He passes Aang his water-skin.

Aang nods weakly, twisting it open and gulping a mouthful.

Oh.

Oh, _spirits_. Water never tasted this good before.

Aang restrains himself from gulping down all of the water-skin, capping it. "My name is Aang… I'm the Avatar," he announces, and then winces in mild embarrassment. "But… you probably already knew that if you were rescuing me…"

Silence hangs between them. The Blue Spirit returns to his stack of chopped firewood, arranging it.

"Have we met before?" Aang wipes off his mouth with his sleeve. Despite the cool and mysterious exterior, he senses nervousness from the Blue Spirit. "Was it one of the Earth Kingdom villages? Do you know the Kyoshi Warriors?"

More silence.

Aang watches as his companion surrounds the firewood with kindling, and then dried moss and leaves.

"You wouldn't happen to know firebending, would you—?" Aang blurts out, smiling. "I'm looking for a teacher—and I think— _oh_ ," he finishes, slumping in defeat when the Blue Spirit holds out two sparking crystals, clacking them together. "Nevermind."

*

A man needs his rest. That's what Uncle Iroh keeps telling him.

Zuko lies down for a little while, listening for the Avatar's soft snoring on another bed of leaves.

He hasn't removed the mask or removed his sword-scabbard. His weapons are an extension of himself in battle, and now Zuko figures the Blue Spirit is part of his identity now. He half-expects the Avatar to wait for him to fall asleep and then curiously peek underneath his mask.

It's still daylight. Plenty of edible acorn nuts and berries in this forest.

Zuko vaguely remembers the Air Nomads had been vegetarians, getting up to bring back a pouchful for the Avatar and leaving it out. He hunts for chipmunk rabbit hopping around the woods, killing and roasting it over the firewood.

If the Avatar notices the stench of burnt meat later, he says nothing about it.

"Thank you," the Avatar says cheerfully, munching on a wildberry. "You saved my life. I think you really did when I hit my head."

He bows his head, raising his hands and making a fist with his right. His left hand gracefully covers his right hand. Zuko decides against the habit of bowing respectfully. He might accidentally reveal himself as a Fire Nation royal.

By dusk, Zuko is certain they can be moving on tomorrow.

The Avatar seems more upbeat and restless about sitting around for hours, lying out on his back and blowing air lightly to the fireflies playing with him. The bruising head-wound heals quicker than Zuko expected after another round of medicinal herbs.

The Avatar doesn't complain about the ginger root tea Zuko brews, but even Zuko himself can taste how _nasty_ it is.

When he's done patrolling, Zuko finds the Avatar daydreaming and leaning to an oak tree, his legs crossed. The flame-orange glow fireflies crawl lazily over his pale, outstretched fingers. Zuko thinks it over, and then seats himself next to him.

He doesn't look at the Avatar who straightens up.

Zuko edges his boot towards a prickle snake wriggling in front of him, nudging it aside until it wriggles into the thicket.

One of the fireflies lands on Zuko's knuckle, dimly lighting the arch with its celestial orange-glow.

The Avatar's lips quirk up.

"Who were you… before you were the Blue Spirit?" he asks.

That's not important. He is who he is, Zuko tries to convince himself. He's the crowned Prince of the Fire Nation, banished and seeking to restore his honor. The Avatar can give him that. He just needs to recapture him and deliver him to his father.

"Before I was the Avatar, I was just another Air Nomad living a hundred years ago. I was born in the Southern Air Temple. I wanted to play new games with the other Airbenders, and learn from Monk Gyatso, and… suddenly, everything was _different_. One day, the monks said I needed to leave everyone I loved behind. They said my destiny was more important."

Zuko's heart drums painfully hard in his chest.

"I didn't want to be different. I didn't want to be _T_ _he Avatar_ …" Behind his mask, Zuko watches in utter fascination as the young, solemn Avatar cups Zuko's firefly with both palms, its little wings twitching. "I let everyone down… I'm sorry if I let you down, too."

_No…_

A lightning-hot impulse runs up Zuko.

He reaches sideways for the Avatar, grasping over his nape and squeezing hard.

Zuko leaves him with this display of understanding, missing the bright, lovely emotion flourishing on the Avatar's expression.

*

"Do you wanna leave with me?"

Aang lets the question hover like wisps of smoke.

He gazes thoughtfully at the Blue Spirit crouching over their fire, dousing it out with what remains in his water-skin. Maybe it's just his imagination, or a trick of the morning-light, but Aang thinks he may have his companion's interest.

"If you don't wanna be alone anymore—I am sure my friends wouldn't mind if you joined us. We could take you anywhere you wanted to go," Aang offers, beaming. It feels nice to smile without his head feeling like it's gonna crack open from the agony. Not that much can keep Aang from smiling when he's in a good mood. "Really! I've got a _flying_ bison! His name is Appa!"

The Blue Spirit dismisses his heartfelt endeavor, stomping out the burning, reddish cinders.

"Well, I can figure out which way to go from here, I think," Aang proclaims, stepping back at the heel. "If you change your mind—"

He halts, tilting his neck away from the sharp, silvery press of a broadsword.

One of the Blue Spirit's arms blocks his path.

Aang inhales, closing his eyes.

"You weren't there to rescue me from Commander Zhao, were you?" he murmurs. Even speaking aloud that possibility, Aang's gut coils in nausea.

Aang reopens his eyes, looking fiercely to the Blue Spirit urging him towards the sitting-log.

"I felt ashamed of myself for thinking that," he admits. "You didn't tie me up. You trusted me to still be here whenever you left. You didn't try to _hurt_ me. So I thought maybe I was wrong—maybe you're a good person who is trying to do it all on his own. I _want_ to believe that," Aang says, low and benevolent. "But I _don't_ want to fight you right now. My friends are sick. They need me."

When there's no glimpse of sympathy, Aang frowns and ducks effortlessly from the broadsword. His mouth thins.

"It could be too late— _please_."

The long, purposeful silence surrounds them. Aang's face crumples. He makes a decision, clasping onto the Blue Spirit's shoulders for leverage, going on his tiptoes and pressing a kiss to an enormous masked row of teeth.

 _"Please—"_ Aang murmurs, his grey eyes watering.

What he is not expecting is for the Blue Spirit to untie the mask.

Shock and horror course through Aang as he glimpses the familiar burn-scar.

Before Aang can do anything, Zuko grabs forcefully, violently onto his face. He smushes his chin and lips, yanking Aang in.

Their noses brush.

"You don't know me, Avatar," Zuko growls, shoving him backwards like in the road. He thrusts a fist, erupting out a massive wave of firebending in Aang's direction. Aang leaps high for the treetops, jumping from branch to branch in a quick succession.

Zuko squints his amber-golden eyes, losing sight of him.

Guilt floods into Zuko, like dark, churning waters overtaking his intestines and his lungs.

It's time to return to his ship.

*

In the middle of the swamp, Aang bends over and tucks the frozen wood frogs into his shirt. His breathing erratic.

_No…_

He sobs out in hoarse and furious breathes, hanging his head. Aang's fingers clutch the space of his own heart. Wind ripples the murky, greenish-brown waters. What feels like exhaustion creeps along in long strides.

Everything feels heightened. Slowed down.

*

_"Aang, did you make any new friends?"_

_"No… I don't think I did…"_

*

**Author's Note:**

> To the one anon pretending to be multiple people: I'm gonna tell you one more time... if I had read the fic you are talking about then I would have kudos and commented. Please do not advertise other people's fics in my comments section.


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